


Fear Based Responses

by carinascott



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Community: avengerkink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carinascott/pseuds/carinascott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is going great for Bruce and Clint. Perfect, in Clint's opinion. Then Bruce drops a bombshell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear Based Responses

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a prompt over at [](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/profile)[**avengerkink**](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/): [Bruce/Clint, won't let him hurt you.](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/5758.html?thread=6359422#t6359422)  Further inspiration was garnered from the following .gif, which the OP included in his/her prompt post: <http://capsiclerogers.tumblr.com/post/23554461367/bruce-i-cant-stay-i-cant-just-let-him-hurt>

Clint had known all along that it was too good to be true. He might not be as old as some, but he'd lived a lot of life in his years and he knew that while happiness was fleeting, heartbreak, emptiness, and loneliness were and always would be his only constant companions in this life.

He had hoped things with Bruce would be different. He had even allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. Even with the Hulk just below the surface, though further down than Bruce would have everyone believe, Clint had known he was truly safe for the first time in a long time. He'd believed that Bruce wouldn't hurt him.

And physically, he was right. Bruce would rather cut off his arms than to raise a hand against Clint. That had offered a lot of comfort to Clint in the beginning. Given his line of work and the type of people he typically met, Clint was familiar with combative relationships. He wasn't a combative person by nature, though he wouldn't back down from a fight; but most of his relationships had been filled with physical pain, blood, broken bones, followed by frenetic makeup sex.

He'd tried with Natasha for a while, but it had mostly been a coming together of friends. They loved each other, of that there was no doubt, but after the initial sex fueled haze had lifted, they'd both known it was destined for failure. That's probably why it was so easy to still remain friends in the aftermath.

But with Bruce it was different. It was better. Bruce understood him better than anyone he’d ever met, including Natasha. After the whole thing with Loki, losing control of his body and being manipulated to hurt innocent people, people he cared about, Clint had been lost.

Bruce had apparently picked up on it and had come to him, offering an ear. He never pressured Clint to talk about what had happened, but he told Clint that he was open to listening whenever Clint felt like talking.

It was a month later when Clint finally opened up. He told Bruce about the complete horror and shame he felt over allowing himself to be taken over so completely and without a fight. Bruce didn't offer any platitudes about how it wasn't his fault or how he hadn't been in control. Clint had been grateful for that. He already knew that he hadn't been in control of his actions. That didn't take the guilt away though.

Bruce confided in him as well, telling him about the fear that sent him off grid in the first place, the green haze of fury that was always lingering just under the surface.

Their attraction to one another had been gradual, completely taking Clint by surprise when Natasha first brought it to his attention. But once she mentioned it, Clint realized the truth of her words. And over the subsequent weeks he and Bruce tentatively began dating. Clint didn’t rush into things dick first like he usually did, something inside telling him that Bruce was different, that things with Bruce could be different.

And they had been. Bruce was kind, caring, and had a surprisingly wicked, yet dry, sense of humor that had shocked a laugh out of Clint on more than one occasion.

Things between them had hit an even keel about six months into their relationship, and Clint had felt like nothing could take that away.

And then Bruce had shown up on his doorstep one Friday morning, having begged off on their usual Wednesday movie night that week. He’d looked horrible and Clint had immediately reached for him, ushering him into his apartment.

He’d turned toward the kitchen when Bruce had uttered five words that shattered Clint’s heart as if it were made of glass.

 

_**begin flashback** _

_“We have to break up.”_

_Clint turned at the soft words, hoping, **praying** , that he’d heard wrong. “Excuse me?”_

_“We have to end this, Clint. I’m sorry but, I can’t, I **won’t** let him hurt you.”_

_Clint felt his world tilting and stumbled to the armchair, sinking into it as he swallowed against the growing ache in his chest._

_“Who?”_

_“Him, Clint. The other guy. I can’t let him hurt you.”_

_"He won't hurt me, Bruce." Clint replied, his focus solely on Bruce, eyes pleading with him not to go._

_"You can't know that. **I** can't know that."_

_"I **do** know that. You don't like to hear it, and I understand that, but the Hulk is a part of you. You wouldn't hurt me, and neither will he."_

_Bruce laughed, the sound bitter and hollow, "Yeah, he's a part of me. The big green, **uncontrollable** , raging part of me! I can't control him. And I can't stop him from hurting you."_

_Clint caught sight of the flash of green in Bruce's eyes, however it didn't scare him. But he knew Bruce wouldn't understand, wouldn't believe him; not about this. Sighing, Clint met Bruce's eyes once more, "The Hulk isn't the one hurting me, Bruce. You’ve got a good handle on that one all on your own."_

_Bruce gasped at Clint’s words, the sound laced with hurt. It cut through Clint like a knife through butter, and for once he didn’t try to hide the pain. More tears fell, and Clint looked away as a sob bubbled up out of his throat. Closing his eyes, Clint swallowed his cries, before turning back to Bruce. “This is not your decision to make Bruce. Not alone. We got into this thing together, and we knew perfectly well what we were getting into; how can you just leave me now? Hmm? Is there someone else, is that what this is about?” Clint knew there wasn’t, but he was grasping at straws by this point, anything to keep Bruce from leaving._

_“No, there’s no one else Clint. But I c-can’t do this anymore. We can’t do this anymore.”_

_“What changed? Huh? We talked about this six months ago when this started, we talked about the other guy, about what he meant for us. You didn’t walk away then, why are you running now?”_

_“Because, I didn’t….. I wasn’t……never mind, it’s not important.”_

_“Tell me!” Clint shouted._

_Bruce remained silent._

_"God dammit Bruce, if you're running away from me you should be man enough to tell me!" Clint slammed his hand on the arm of the chair, "Tell me!"_

_“I wasn’t in love with you then!” Bruce replied, voice just as loud._

_Clint and Bruce stared at each other in shocked silence, the words hanging between them. Clint had been feeling it for a while now, maybe even a few months, but neither one of them had ever been brave enough say it._

_Swallowing once more, Clint spoke, “You say you love me. But you’re leaving me. Nice one, Banner.” Clint could already feel his walls coming back up, but there was no help for it. He’d allowed Bruce to tear through every wall he’d ever built, and now he was being left bare and vulnerable. It was going be hard enough trying to get over Bruce, if it was even possible, might as well get a head start._

_“I do love you Clint. That’s why I have to leave. I’m not safe for you.”_

_Clint snorted at that, standing and crossing the room to Bruce. “You say you love me enough to leave, but not enough to stay? Never took you for a coward, Banner.”_

_Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair, before turning and walking towards the front door. Opening it, he glanced at Clint over his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”_

_Clint watched the door close, the finality of the situation sinking in with the final click of the door, “Yeah, me too.”_

_**end flashback** _

It had been two months since Bruce had disappeared on him. Two months since he’d broken Clint’s heart, taking the shattered pieces with him.

Natasha had tried to cheer him up, taking him out to the occasional night club, even commissioning Tony to create him some brand new high tech archery gloves. It had warmed his heart, knowing how much Natasha cared for him; but it hadn’t been enough to pull him out of his funk.

Everyone had tried something, Steve even going so far as to drink a whole case of beer in a bid to get drunk right along with Clint, although it had mostly just resulted in Clint passing out on him halfway through his own twelve pack, leaving Steve running back and forth to the bathroom for the remainder of the night.

Clint knew that they were worried about him, but besides a smidgen of guilt at his indifference, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was barely holding on to his composure most days, he didn’t have anything left over for anyone else.

Clint was certain that Coulson had mentioned his mood change to Fury, but besides the disconcerting feel of being the sole focus of Fury’s one-eyed stare a few times, the older man hadn’t said anything.

There really was nothing to say anyway. For all that Clint knew that he was sinking into a deep depression, this job was all he had. It was the only thing keeping him sane. He would do this job to the best of abilities.

It was all he had left.

\--

Clint groaned as the pounding in his head ramped up. He hadn't been sleeping well these last few weeks, and of course when he finally managed to drop off, some asshole decided to knock on his door. Sitting up on the side of his bed, Clint rubbed the sleep crust from his eyes, wondering who the hell could possibly be at his door at this time of night.

He didn’t worry too much about it being anyone dangerous, bad guys didn’t typically go around banging on people’s doors to alert them to their presence. All the same, he grabbed the knife he kept strapped behind his night stand before standing and heading to the front door.

Taking a peek out the peephole, Clint wasn’t surprised to see Natasha on the other side of the door.

Sighing, he placed the knife on the entrance table before unlocking the door and stepping back to let Natasha in.

“What the hell, Tash? It’s like three in the morning, someone had better be dead or dying.

Natasha glared at him before turning and grabbing something and pushing it into the room in front of her.

Clint blinked, noticing that the something was in fact a some _one_. Bruce Banner to be exact.

Anger suddenly clouding his vision, Clint slammed the door. “What the hell?!? Why the _fuck_ is he here!?!”

Natasha pushed Bruce into a seat, glaring at him when he tried to make a move towards the front door. She growled something to him in Russian, and while Clint had no idea if the other man knew what she'd said, Bruce sat back down all the same.

“He’s here because you need him.”

Clint bristled at that, “Like hell! I don’t need him, and he sure as hell doesn’t need me. He made that perfectly clear when he walked away. You shouldn’t have done this, Tash.”

Natasha shrugged, “Maybe, maybe not. But it’s done now. If you really don’t want him here, throw him out. But I’m tired of you being miserable.”

Clint sobered a bit at the matter-of-fact delivery of her words. Swallowing thickly, Clint nodded. Natasha wasn’t one for big shows of emotion, more the type to shoot first and ask questions later; if she’d gone through all the trouble of tracking Bruce down and bringing him back here, Clint wasn’t going to throw it back in her face. He didn’t want to think of what the rest of the night held in store for him with Bruce in his home, but it was his cross to bear now.

Clint accepted the kiss that Natasha pressed to his cheek as she turned to leave, stepping to the door to close and lock it behind her.

Clint took a deep breath before turning around. He was still angry, but it was more of a hollow ache now. But he’d been living with that same ache for the last two months. He was used to it by now.

“You’re welcomed to stay until the morning. Tash would probably kick my ass for turning you out on the streets, anyway; no matter what she said. Spare blankets are where they always are. See ya in the morning.” Clint was almost at his bedroom when he heard the soft call of his name.

“Clint.”

The sob that nearly choked him at the simple call of his name had Clint swallowing hard, willing the tears to fade. He hadn’t cried since that first night and he knew if he started now he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Hand on the knob to his door, Clint whispered, “Yeah?” trying to ignore the way his voice cracked on the simple word.

“I’m sorry.”

Clint heard the creaking of metal beneath his hand, the pressure from his grip almost too much for the cheap metal of the door knob. He knew he was shaking, but there was no help for it.

Clint didn’t look back, but he nodded his head. “I know.”

And he did. For all of his anger at Bruce, he knew that the other man had truly felt that his leaving was for the best. He was no longer angry at Bruce for leaving, he was simply angry at himself for ever believing that he was enough for Bruce to stay. No one else had.

Walking into the bedroom, Clint climbed under the blankets, wrapping his arm around his bare torso, suddenly cold and so very lonely. He didn’t bother to hold back his tears now, using the cover of darkness to hide the evidence.

It wasn’t long before he heard the soft click of his bedroom door opening, and he felt as if all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. He felt the bed dip behind him with Bruce’s weight, and though his body screamed for him to move away, to turn and throw the other man out of his bed, his house, his life; his heart ached for the solid weight, the unwavering strength of Bruce’s arms around him, the only feeling of home that Clint had ever really known.

Clint felt Bruce’s hand on his shoulder, felt the warmth of it as the other man moved his hand up to his neck, stopping at the feel of Clint's racing pulse. “Oh, Clint. I’m so sorry.”

They stayed that way for a long time, Clint lying in his bed with his arms wrapped around himself unable to give in and turn into the warmth of Bruce's embrace; Bruce with his palm resting against Clint’s neck. Slowly, so very slowly, some of the tension leeched out of Clint. Some of his wariness faded and though he didn't snuggle into Bruce's arms like he once might have, he did turn to face him, stealing glances at Bruce in the faint light of the coming dawn.

What he saw made him frown. Bruce looked horrible. His face was gaunt, there was at least a month’s worth of growth on his face, leaving him with a bushy and unkempt beard. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and his hair was a mess.

Even so, he was the best thing Clint had seen in a while.

Moving a bit closer, accidentally dislodging Bruce's hand in the process, Clint finally met his eyes. “Why are you here?”

Bruce’s smile was small, but still there. “Natasha threatened to castrate me if I didn’t come. I was inclined to believe her.”

Clint smirked a bit, knowing that he wouldn’t have tried to call her bluff either. He frowned a moment later though. “Is that the only reason?”

Bruce shook his head, placing his hand on Clint’s chest, just above his heart. “No. I wanted to come. Had been looking for an excuse to come home for the last month. But I was pretty sure you’d punch me on sight given the way I left things.”

Clint considered Bruce’s words, particularly the part where he'd referred to Clint's place as home. Saving those thoughts for later, Clint shrugged his shoulders a bit. “Probably, but you would've deserved it.”

They fell silent once more, staring into each other's eyes. Bruce broke the tableau first, standing and walking over to the bedroom window, opening the curtains and looking out at the waking city. The view wasn’t as breathtaking as the one from Stark Tower, but not many views were.

“I’m sorry Clint.”

Clint sat up on the side of the bed with a huff. “Stop saying that.”

“I’m sor-” Bruce sighed before trying again, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. That was never my intention.”

“So why did you?”

“Truth?"

"Would be nice."

"I was scared.”

“Of me?"

“Of _me_.”

Clint sighed, not really wanting to have this argument again. “I told you Bruce, the other guy, he won’t hurt me.”

“I know that. That’s not what I meant.”

Clint stood and walked over to stand next to Bruce, waiting to let the other man talk at his own pace. “I’m not any good at relationships, Clint. Even before everything, before the other guy happened, I was never really good at the whole relationship thing. But me and you? We were good. First as teammates, then as friends, and finally as more. And that scared me, Clint. More than I can say. So I ran. I ran before I had a chance to screw this up, to screw _you_ up. The other guy was just an excuse.”

Clint frowned. “So why did you come back?”

“Because I do love you, Clint. I tried not to, like _really_ tried not to. But you’re under my skin, now. And I like you there. These last two months without you have been unbearable. I know I don’t deserve it, and I’ll completely understand if you don’t feel the same way, but I’d like for us to try again.”

Clint was silent for a long time, really considering what he wanted, and was grateful for Bruce’s silence in the meantime.

When Bruce had initially left, Clint had been hurt. More than that though, he’d felt betrayed. Bruce was the first man, first _person_ , he’d truly let in and when push came to shove he’d run off. Clint had shared secrets with Bruce he hadn’t shared with anyone else, not even Natasha, and when the other man had cut and run, Clint had felt vulnerable. He wasn’t used to sharing parts of himself like that, and a dark part of him had feared that Bruce planned to use those secrets to betray him.

After he’d let go of the initial hurt and betrayal, the anger had settled in. Clint had set about ridding himself of anything that reminded him of Bruce, even getting drunk one night and going out on his balcony to burn all the things that Bruce had left behind. He’d been gleeful at the time, but the next morning when he’d woken with the hangover from hell, and seen evidence of just what he’d done, he’d been sick. Literally.

He’d dug through the ashes, feeling as if he was digging through the ashes the life he'd shared with Bruce, looking for anything that could be salvaged from the wreckage. It was like if he could save something from the roaring inferno of the night before, then maybe, just maybe there’d be hope for him and Bruce.

But he hadn’t found anything. It was all smoldering ash, and it had truly signified the end of Bruce and Clint. Or so Clint had thought.

And now Bruce was standing here, asking for a second chance and Clint wasn’t sure he could give it to him.

Clint still loved Bruce, of that there was no doubt. But he wasn’t sure he could trust him.

As he was about to turn and tell him that it was too late to start again, Natasha’s face popped up in his mind.

Natasha wasn’t an emotional woman. Not to say that she was emotionless, she just didn’t show emotion very well. Or very often.

The fact that she’d gone searching for Bruce said a lot. But the fact that Bruce was here, and in one piece, said a whole lot more. Natasha had been plenty angry when she'd discovered that Bruce had abandoned Clint, cursing a blue streak in Russian that had Steve blushing, even though Clint was certain the other man didn't speak Russian.

If Natasha was willing to play peacemaker for Bruce and Clint, to keep Clint from being miserable, then the least he could do was give it a try himself.

Clint looked over at Bruce. “You hurt me, Bruce. Leaving the way you did, no matter the reason, it tore something up in me. I lost trust in you. But I have faith in Tash, and for now that will have to be enough until you earn yours back. I’m willing to give this another try, but If you leave again, don’t bother coming back. I don’t care what reason you have, I won’t care what excuse you come up with; if you leave again, know now that it will be the end of us, period.”

Bruce nodded solemnly, “I understand.”

“Good. Now get over here and kiss me. I’ve missed you.”

Bruce did as he was told, pulling Clint into his arms and kissing the younger man until they were both breathless. “I missed you too.”

Clint knew that this didn't magically fix things between them, and he had a strong feeling that there were several heated arguments lying in wait for them in the near future. But they'd cross that hurdle when they came to it.

For now, he was simply going to bask in the joy of having Bruce back in his life. After two months adrift, he was finally home.

END


End file.
